


wrap me up

by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Snowed In, anyways yeah snowed in a cabin fic let's get tropey this holiday season, i am DETERMINED to make this tag a thing, morons to lovers, or more like angsty backstory with a whole bunch of fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21931498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwatson/pseuds/eddiespaghetti
Summary: A year and a half after Derry, Eddie packs up and makes his way to the second annual losers holiday gathering. Things have been awkward, though, since last year, and he hasn't seen Richie in months.Then, due to Bev's interference, Richie and Eddie get stuck in the cabin, alone together, for the first time since last Christmas. And then they get snowed in overnight. Which is fine. It's probably fine. Just because Richie will barely talk to him - it doesn't matter. It's going to be fine.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 52
Kudos: 735





	wrap me up

**Author's Note:**

> title credit to christmas drag by idkhow, even though technically i got the idea for this fic listening to wham's last christmas - the lyrics from christmas drag are way too relevant to ignore

After a long, unpleasant flight from Manhattan to Vail, Eddie is the first one to Ben’s cabin in Colorado. It’s where they’ve all agreed to meet up this year, and to do the actual week of Christmas.

To some extent, Eddie knew he might be first - he knew Bev was finishing up some things for work and had told him she and Ben would be a little late. Stan and Patty still had family to actually celebrate Hanukkah with - and Hanukkah was early this year, comparatively, so they were finishing up before they flew out. Bill and Mike hadn’t said anything to Eddie directly, but Bill usually wasn’t the first one of them anywhere, even with Mike pushing him along.

So there’s Eddie, alone in a big, beautiful cabin in Vail, Colorado. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon.

He’d stopped in town to pick up groceries for the week, and it’s easy enough to figure out where to put them away. The fridge is spacious - clearly expensive, just like everything else in the cabin. Eddie’s own selected bedroom is big and well-decorated, all rustic and deep blue and forest green, with a window that looks out over the snow-covered mountain valley.

After he’s put away the groceries, he unpacks his clothes and sets aside everyone’s gifts. He has something for all seven of them, even though Bev has told him Richie might not even be coming. Since Eddie hasn’t seen him since Ben and Bev’s wedding, over half a year ago, that sort of tracks.

Once everything is squared away, Eddie just ends up walking through the place and settling on the balcony.

It’s starting to snow, just a little. It snows often enough in Colorado, though, that Eddie’s assuming it won’t be a problem. There’s probably an infrastructure for snow-clearning. Dusk is beginning to fall, and there’s a beautiful pink and orange sunset, with the light bouncing off all the snow and the trees. It looks like something out of a postcard, the perfect picturesque mountain view at golden hour.

Eddie’s still fairly bundled up, in a big jacket and scarf, with a warm cup of coffee in his hands. In spite of the lingering anxiety from travelling, he’s feeling pretty good.

Then, coming up the driveway, he sees a rental car. The closer it gets, the more he can just make out the fact that it’s absolutely blasting music.

In that moment, he has a terrible realization, prompting him to drop the ridiculous handcrafted mug he’s holding. It shatters all over the wood on the deck, and Eddie jumps back, avoiding hot coffee and shards of ceramic.

Marching inside, he grabs his phone and calls Bev.

“Explain,” he tells her without saying hello.

“Eddie, look-”

“Stop, don’t finish that sentence.” Outside, he can hear the car pulling up. A door opens, and Wham’s Last Christmas is now fully audible. “He’s right outside, when you told me he wasn’t coming. I have already figured out that no one else is showing up tonight - it’s too late now anyways. So just tell me when you and everyone else is getting here, and why the fuck you thought this would be a good way to handle this.”

She sighs. “We thought you wouldn’t go. Or that he wouldn’t go. He doesn’t know either.”

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. “Bev. That’s not - that means I have to tell him no one else is coming tonight. I’m not - I told you I don’t know what I did, you know that I’ve been trying-”

“And hopefully the two of you can work it out!”

“And if we don’t?”

“The rest of us get there tomorrow, so just don’t kill each other.”

“I don’t want to kill him, Bev,” Eddie says in a small voice.

Richie’s voice comes booming, then, from outside. “Hey who’s a guy gotta blow to get some help with his luggage around here? What the fuck, guys?”

“You should probably go,” Bev tells him.

“This fucking sucks. You suck. Tell your husband he also sucks.”

“Love you, Eddie,” she says, and then hangs up.

It’s not that Bev is being deliberately cruel. At least it’s probably not. It’s hard to tell at this point. Eddie finishes cleaning himself up, spares a glance at his own, tired reflection, and then goes out to the deck to face Richie.

When Eddie makes it to the door, Richie’s still at his car, digging around in the back.

“Took you assholes long enough, fuck, man what-” Finally, he leans out, and looks up at Eddie. “Oh. Uh. Eddie. Hey. You- where’s everybody else?”

Eddie clears his throat. “I was just talking to Bev on the phone. No one - no one else is coming until tomorrow. It’s just us, for tonight.”

“Oh.” Richie says.

Awkward tension fills the cold air between them. This is the first time they’ve been alone with each other, in person, in a year. Somehow they didn’t see each other for 27 years and in Derry, they’d fallen right back into step like no time had passed. Now, instead, after just a year, it’s like both of them have forgotten how to do it. Eddie especially.

He wonders if Bev told Richie he wasn’t coming, too.

“Did you need help with your bags?” He asks Richie, walking down the stairs.

“Oh - no, no, I was just - you know, talking shit. Uh. I mean I guess you can grab something if you’re already out here, though.”

Richie hoists a duffel bag onto one shoulder and thrusts another bag at Eddie, keeping him at arm's length. It looks like a bag full of gifts. Eddie takes it, carefully, not brushing Richie’s hand, just in case.

They walk inside in complete silence. It’s excruciating. He spares a moment to think about how all their friends probably once would have joked about enjoying the moment of unexpected quiet with both of them in the same room, but it hurts too much to linger on.

Once they’re up the stairs and in the main room, Eddie puts the bag down under the Christmas tree. Presumably Ben had one delivered some time in the last week.

“There’s plenty of bedrooms, upstairs and downstairs. I’m in one of the ones upstairs, but obviously we get first call since nobody else is here,” he tells Richie, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s groceries in the fridge, I got-”

“I think I’m gonna go crash,” Richie says, cutting him off.

Eddie tightens his arms, nodding and avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, right. You’re probably tired. Just - if you get hungry, everything’s free game and I’ll - see you tomorrow when everyone gets in.”

“Yeah,” Richie tosses over his shoulder, but he’s already going downstairs.

Downstairs. Nowhere near Eddie’s room. Of course.

Quietly, Eddie takes off his shoes, and hangs up his jacket and scarf. He grabs his phone off of the kitchen counter and goes back up to his room.

He lays down on his bed, and looks up at the ceiling.

So much for that.

* * *

  
The original idea of having a Losers’ holiday get-together had been what felt like a stroke of genius. After Derry, all of them were scattered all over the country, all of them going through their own various struggles.

There’d been a group chat with varying levels of activity, but they all missed each other, and finally Mike had said they should all meet up again, somewhere that wasn’t Derry, and everyone had quickly agreed.

Everyone except Eddie.

He’d wanted to. Some part of him had wanted to. But another part of him was embarrassed and ashamed and frustrated. Mike had left Derry and gone travelling, Bev had gotten a divorce, Richie had come out and started writing his own material, Bill had started a new book. Ben was happy with Bev, and Stan had gone very happily home to his wife.

Then there was Eddie. Eddie, left to his own cowardly devices, remembered how to be brave and then just went home and went back to his wife and tried desperately to remember how to be afraid. He went back to his boring job, and his claustrophobic house, and his bathroom floor to ceiling full of medications, and a diet that avoided all the things he’d once believed he was allergic to.

Ever since that August, he’d looked at the group chat on his phone, and looked at everyone else’s progress, and hated himself a little bit more every time.

So, sure, he wanted to see his friends because he missed them. He also hated the very idea of having to explain how much hadn’t changed since he’d last seen them all.

When the invitation had come, he’d asked Myra if she wanted to go. She snapped at him about all their usual holiday plans and how much they’d be missing if they just ran off somewhere. She insisted he shouldn’t bother to see any of  _ those friends _ after he got hurt doing something stupid the last time he saw them.

Eventually, Bev had bullied Eddie into coming, and he had gone. Myra had reluctantly let him, though not without more crying and guilt tripping.

He had, after a conversation with Richie, left that same gathering in the middle of the night, the day before Christmas Eve, and flown back to New York.

He’d started the process of getting his divorce just a couple of weeks later.

Not that it mattered by then.  
  


* * *

  
Back in his room at Ben’s cabin, Eddie is starting to get hungry.

Richie probably already grabbed something from the kitchen, like a bowl of cereal or pop-tarts, and retreated back into his room.

Still, it takes Eddie almost a full hour to drag himself out of bed and stumble down the stairs to find something in the kitchen.

The cabin is freezing, and the hardwood floor is like ice against Eddie’s bare feet. He has to put socks back on just to walk downstairs without feeling like he’s risking frostbite. He wraps a blanket around his shoulders and fumbles around in the dark downstairs of the cabin until he finds a thermostat and turns it up a little. It’s digital, which seems comforting somehow, like they probably won’t all freeze to death later.

When he finally turns on some lights and wanders into the kitchen, though, of course Richie is standing there, eating a bowl of cereal.

He turns to Eddie and looks at him like a deer in the headlights, his eyes all big behind his glasses.

Eddie is abruptly too tired to keep doing this. He sighs, and moves to search through the pantry. “Just ignore me. I just need food. And I didn’t want either of us to freeze to death, so I turned up the heat.”

“Right. Thanks,” Richie mumbles around a mouthful of Lucky Charms.

As much as it aches, Eddie doesn’t even turn to look at Richie, because looking at him will hurt worse. Instead, he fills a pot up with water, salts it, and sets it to start boiling, all while keeping the blanket draped over his shoulders. “You’re welcome to some of this once it’s done if you want any. I realize you’re eating a bowl of cereal right now, but since that’s all empty carbs and sugar, you’ll probably want something more substantial before you actually go to bed or you’ll wake up hungry in the middle of the night or something.”

Richie snorts. “Okay, mom. Geez.”

The familiar ribbing makes Eddie smile, just a little, down at his feet. He risks a quick glance at Richie and sees him smiling a little too. Maybe Bev was right. “I’m just saying, I know how you get-”

“Right, well I’ll let you know if I want any,” Richie says, and then he’s gone again, heading down the stairs.

The kitchen is quiet again, then. Only the sounds of the snow outside keep Eddie company. “Well, fuck,” he says to the pot of water.  
  


* * *

  
It happened like this.

Eddie got to the Air BnB Mike had rented well after almost everyone else. It was late on the 21st. He’d received a warm welcome from basically everyone, a hug from Richie with a cursory attempt to fuck up his hair. Eddie had shoved at him, and they’d all laughed while he and Richie had argued, just like always.

The problem had come on the night of the 23rd.

They’d all been drinking, splitting off into pairs, and he and Richie had ended up alone outside, huddled together and drinking.

“Sometimes I feel like the rest of them leave us alone on purpose just to get some peace and quiet,” Eddie had joked.

Richie snorted. “Well, their fucking loss. Besides - you say that like it hasn’t always been like this. You and me against the world, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Oh, don’t fucking call me that,” Eddie had groaned.

Richie had laughed.

There’d been a moment of quiet, but it was rare, then, and sort of tentative. They were both a little drunk, warm from the alcohol. Eddie had turned to face Richie, wondering if he should say something, but Richie had been looking out into the distance, thoughtful, so Eddie had stayed quiet.

“You know when we were kids - uh. Fuck. Don’t like - don’t take this the wrong way, but when we were kids I was sort of - in love with you?”

Eddie still remembers exactly the way he’d said it. Just like that, like it was a question somehow, lifting up at the end.

“You what?” Eddie had somehow stuttered out, past the rushing in his ears.

“Just, you know, when we were kids, I like-” Richie had stopped, and laughed, looking down at his drink. “I had a crush on you. I actually - I carved our initials into the kissing bridge. Like. R + E, you know the way the other kids used to do it, because there was that whole stupid thing about it. It was silly, you know, but it was - yeah. I don’t know. I just felt like I should tell you.”

“You had a crush on me?” Eddie had repeated, feeling like he was barely holding himself upright.

“Yeah, I - yeah. Is that weird?”

“No,” Eddie said quickly, immediately. “No, it’s not - I mean I think your taste is a little questionable, maybe, but that’s not - sorry. I, um.” Very abruptly, Eddie had realized something. All the pieces had sort of fallen into place, and he remembered, echoing in his mind, what Richie had said to him in the sewers, about being brave. “Richie I have to go back to New York.”

At that, Richie had turned to him, confused. “Yeah? I know, man, you go back in a few days-”

“I have go back to New York right now. I’m gonna - I’m gonna tell everyone else goodbye, but I have to - I have to go.”

Richie had started to look concerned. “Like right now? Is it - why?”

“It’s not - look, I’ll explain, I promise, just let me explain after I do it or I’ll never - I have to go.”

So Eddie had packed, and told everyone goodbye, and made a promise to himself that he would do it. He would do the big brave thing and talk to everyone afterwards.

Only he landed in New York, and got back to his place, and Myra had gone off on him again for coming home in the middle of the night. He’d spent all night looking at apartment listings, but it took him longer than he it would just to find a place to stay - and in fact he couldn’t find a place he could move in by the end of the week at all.

After about a week, he’d managed to leave his wedding ring and leave her, and ended up in a hotel.

That was when he’d called Richie, still high on adrenaline and a little out of breath, and practically vibrating he was so nervous.

“Eds, hey-”

“Richie. Hi. Can you talk?”

“Actually I’m - kind of on a date right now. Could I call you back?”

And just like that, the plan had fallen apart. It was like watching something that had looked solid crumble into dust as he held it in his hands. So much for whatever strange combination of a Christmas wish and a New Year’s resolution he’d had going. So much for everything.

“Oh,” he choked out. “No, yeah, just. Don’t worry about it.”

And then he’d hung up, and sat down on the floor of his hotel room, and cried.

And then, shortly after that, he’d called Bev.  
  


* * *

  
He finishes making the pasta, and he takes a bowl of it back up to his room.

Richie doesn’t make another appearance.

After he eats, Eddie gives up and lays down in the dark, fucking around on his phone until he gets too tired to keep his eyes open.

He falls into a restless sleep, troubled with strange dreams and nightmares, and eventually not long after dawn, he gives up.

It’s still fairly cold in the cabin, so Eddie bundles up again and makes his way back downstairs. The thermostat is clearly lying, to a troubling degree. The cabin is quiet.

When Eddie makes his way to the window, he sees why.

It’s obviously been snowing all night, nonstop. Richie’s car is covered in at least a foot of snow. The road up to the cabin is completely buried. There’s no way anyone’s getting up there right now without a heavy duty four-wheel vehicle, and even that might be risky just because of the way the snow makes visibility difficult on the winding mountain roads.

Immediately, Eddie grabs his phone and calls Bev. “Am I snowed in a fucking cabin with Richie for the foreseeable future? Actually, don’t answer that one, answer this one, did you fucking plan this part, or was this an accident? You should know I’m blaming you either way.”

“Eddie, I swear it was an accident. Our flight’s been grounded now because of weather here and there. I think Stan and Patty might make it in, but they won’t be able to get up to the cabin when they don’t even know where it is, really, I just don’t think they’d be comfortable driving up. Bill and Mike weren’t flying in until later, so we’re still not sure yet - I’m sorry. It was only supposed to be one night, I promise.”

Closing his eyes, Eddie puts the phone down, presses it against his leg, and shouts, “Fuck!” into the quiet of the cabin. Then, he takes a deep breath and brings the phone back up to his ear. “Okay. Fine. Great. This is great! So we just have to not die until more of you can actually get up here. Great. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I really am sorry, Eddie. Mostly because I’m assuming from the phone call that it didn’t go well.”

“No. No, of course it didn’t go well, I could have told you that.”

Richie’s voice floats up the stairs. “Eddie? You good?”

Eddie sighs. “You should probably come upstairs, Richie.” Then he directs his words back at Bev, through the phone. “I have to go. If I die here, I’m going to haunt you, and your husband.”

“Ben says he’s sorry, too.”

“Not helping, Bev! Tell me when you’re actually on your way!”

He hangs up on them, then, as he starts to hear Richie’s footsteps on the stairs.

“What, are people here?” Richie asks, his voice still rough with sleep.

Eddie glances at him, just quickly, like it’s going to make it less difficult to look at him all sleep-rumpled and handsome and warm. “No. Just - look outside, dipshit.”

Finally, Richie walks up beside him and looks out through the big floor to ceiling windows. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. Oh fuck is right.” Eddie tightens the blanket around his shoulders.

“Wait, so - we’re - we’re stuck here? Just us? And everyone else is-"

“Stuck at home, mostly. Or off the mountain.”

“Oh fuck this,” Richie says, immediately, going to grab his coat. He practically rushes for it, grabbing the jacket and then rushing outside, like it’s going to get him anywhere.

Eddie stands at the door, watching him rush to try and brush off his car. “Are you fucking serious? Are you insane? You’re not going to get anywhere!”

“Well I’m not gonna fucking get stuck up here!”

That hurts - stupidly, obviously, because it’s the subtext of every single thing Richie has said and done since he arrived, but to have it laid bare like that still hurts. “Is it this much of a nightmare to have to be alone with me for forty-eight hours, Richie?” Eddie finally asks, because he can’t stop himself.

It makes Richie stop, his arms still buried in the snow on top of his rental car. He turns, after a moment, and shakes the snow off his arms. “Eddie, that’s not - I didn’t-”

“It is, and you did. And it’s- it’s fine. Really. It’s fine. It’s not like I can’t - take a hint. But this wasn’t my idea, and it’s not my fault, either. I didn’t summon the fucking snow. If I could just magically make it so you could escape, I would. The last thing I wanna do is trap you here.”

“Eds,” Richie says quietly, shivering a little. “I - can we talk about this inside?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t really see what there is to talk about, but sure. Stop getting frostbite, or we really will be in trouble.” He takes the blanket off his shoulders and hands it to Richie, stepping outside and getting his socks wet in the process. He peels them off once they both step back inside, and he closes the door to keep the snow out. “I’m gonna go put on something warmer. You should change clothes. Please don’t freeze to death.”

“Okay,” Richie says quietly. He has the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he walks over to the stairs. He pauses, before he goes down, turns and opens his mouth, but then it’s like he thinks better of it, and he goes back to walking down the stairs.

It’s difficult, but Eddie just sort of lifts his chin and soldiers on. He goes upstairs and changes into a sweater and some warmer socks. He puts a scarf on and then goes back downstairs and fiddles with the thermostat, turning on the emergency heat.

He goes into the kitchen and starts up the coffee, just so they’ll both have something warm to drink.

When Richie comes back up the stairs, his hair is still a little damp from the snow, and his face is still flushed. He has the blanket around his shoulders.

They stand there together, in the kitchen, in the quiet, while the coffee brews.

Then Richie clears his throat. “I - I know you said you don’t know what there is to talk about, but I didn’t - I think maybe we should actually talk about it or something.”

“Why now?” Eddie asks, keeping his eyes firmly on the coffee machine.

“...I guess I just didn’t realize you… noticed.”

Eddie sighs. “Rich, the only time you text me is when you’re drunk or you want to ask me a weird medical question or something. The last time we saw each other in person was Bev and Ben’s wedding, and you were there with your boyfriend. To anybody that wasn’t me, maybe that seemed normal, because you’ve been busy, obviously, but we haven’t actually really talked in a year. Since last Christmas. Just because I don’t understand why doesn’t mean I can’t like - figure out that you’re pissed at me.”

“I wasn’t pissed at you,” Richie insists.

“Whatever you wanna call it. Upset with me, tired of me, I don’t know.”

“I’m not - Eds. I wasn’t - I mean, you’re doing fine, obviously. What’s it matter?”

Finally, Eddie turns, angry. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I am not - My divorce got finalized in the summer. I quit my job as soon as I was sure I wasn’t going to have to pay alimony. I’ve been living on savings and trying to figure my shit out like I’m fucking 25 and not 41, you’re the one - dating and touring and getting a fucking Netflix special. This has probably been the worst year of my life. And we fought a fucking demonic space clown last year and we all could have died, and that was better, honestly!”

“Well I didn’t know any of that!”

“Fucking of course you didn’t, asshole! I didn’t want to try and call you just to get brushed off again!”

“What do you mean again?”

“I- it doesn’t matter. Just forget it.” Eddie turns back to the coffee machine and realizes there’s finally coffee. “Thank God,” he mumbles, pulling down mugs so he can fill both of them up. He thrusts one into Richie’s hands and walks out into the living room.

Richie takes a moment to put milk and sugar in his coffee, but then he follows Eddie, quiet and expectant.

After another minute or so, Eddie gives up. “Okay, fine. I called you the night I left Myra or I - tried to, but you were busy, and you never got back in touch with me to ask how I was. So I just figured I shouldn’t - bother you.”

“You - what?”

“It was like a year ago, it was like a week and a half after I left Loser Christmas, there’s not - I wouldn’t assume you’d remember-”

“Was that when you called me while I was on my first date with Jason?”

Eddie glances at him, and then away again, shrugging, clutching at the mug in his hands. “You said you were on a date, so - yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”

When Richie speaks again, it’s quiet. “Did you call me first?”

His shoulders come up around his ears - Eddie knows they do, he can feel it. “Yeah. Well. Of course I did. And it’s not - I mean you were busy. It’s fine. Bev wasn’t. So I - after I got off the phone with you, I called her. And she and Ben came up and helped me do - you know, apartment hunting stuff. And they didn’t tell anybody until I told them they could.”

“I didn’t - Eds, I didn’t know that’s why you called. And then when you - it took you like a month to tell us all you left, I didn’t think-”

“You were on a date, it’s fine. Really, we don’t have to - I didn’t want to fuck it up for you.”

Richie makes a noise, something like a scoff, but Eddie still can’t look at him. “Yeah, well. I fucked it up eventually anyways, that’s what I do.”

There’s a long moment of quiet. Eddie uses it to make himself relax - to lower his shoulders, and take a deep breath, and gather his composure, so he’s not so close to the edge of a breakdown. “I mean, wasn’t that the guy you brought to the wedding? You were with him for almost six months, right? That’s - I know that we’re 40 and all our friends are married or getting married, but six months isn’t nothing.”

“I barely saw him, though. I was on tour so much, he didn’t come with me - as soon as he tried to get more serious, I broke it off. I can’t-” Richie heaves out a sigh and sits down on the couch, putting his mug down on the coffee table. “Fuck. Why are we even talking about this? It’s not even 10 AM yet, probably, what the fuck?”

Eddie pulls out his phone, looks at it, and snorts. “Yeah, it’s like 8:45. But you were the one that said we should talk or something.”

“Okay, well that was fucking stupid. I’m not awake enough to talk about my serious relationship problems, fuck that. What about you? Your turn, spill your guts or something, make me feel better.”

“Was the divorce thing not enough for you?” Eddie asks.

Richie turns to look at him and winces a little. “Shit, sorry, that’s-”

“I’m kidding, dumbass, I- I don’t really think that counts when I should have done it a long time ago or - if I had remembered everything I might not have married her in the first place.” It’s the first time Eddie’s really said that out loud. He sits down in an armchair and tucks his feet underneath himself, trying to stay warm. “I haven’t dated anyone since college, though, so. You’re a step up from me.”

“I mean, you said the divorce only went through in the summer-”

“I don’t know if I’m - ever gonna try to date again, actually,” Eddie forces out, trying to make it sound sort of casual, but the phrasing is so dramatic that it’s kind of inescapable. The words practically hang in the air after he’s said it, and he has to keep his eyes on his mug just so he’s not looking at Richie to check his reaction.

“Eds, man, we’re 40, not 80. That’s a little much.”

Eddie shrugs. “I know, I know that, but I - I just can’t do the casual dating thing, I don’t think. It would depend on the person or on the -” He stops, clears his throat, and chokes out the words. “On the guy. It would depend - on the guy.”

There’s a long silence after that. It’s so long that Eddie does actually force himself to look over and check Richie’s expression, and Richie’s just staring off towards the windows, frozen. “Did you say-” he finally stammers out.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I’m gay. I was - I’ve been working on it in therapy and trying to work up to - telling everyone which I was planning to do here, but all of our friends bailed on us because they’re idiots, and I don’t-”

Richie stands up, and pulls Eddie out of his chair, and into a hug.

Eddie just stands there, in Richie’s arms, still cradling the mug of coffee in his hands.

“Well fuck that, fuck them,” Richie says, right by his ear. “They should be here.”

“It’s not like they knew I was going to do it, Richie,” Eddie says weakly.

“They should have known. Or they should have been here anyways, this is important.”

Smiling, Eddie shuffles around just a little to put his coffee mug down, and then he hides his face against Richie’s shoulder and hugs him back, gladly.

Richie is so warm. His arms are a solid weight over Eddie’s shoulders, and it makes him feel safe and grounded in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He realizes, sort of distantly, that he’s starting to cry, but he just holds Richie a little bit tighter, his hands fisting in the fabric of Richie’s sleep shirt, hoping that Richie won’t let him go just yet.

As it happens, Richie just rests his chin on top of Eddie’s head, and rubs at his back, and stays there. Eddie shudders in his arms.

“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie tells him softly. The moments drag on, and Richie doesn’t make any move to pull away. Eddie finally decides to just stay there and enjoy it as long as it lasts. “You’re really fucking warm,” he mumbles.

That makes Richie laugh and  _ oh, _ Eddie can feel it. His chest moves with it, and Eddie can feel it and hear it against his cheek, and he just presses closer.

“Probably just residual heat from LA. I don’t actually feel that warm, it’s fucking cold in here.”

“I think the heat’s broken. Just our fucking luck. I turned on the emergency heat but I can’t tell if it’s doing anything. It’s possible shit got frozen in the snow because we don’t know the kind of measures to take to keep that from happening.”

Richie rubs at his back again, like he’s trying to warm him up, and then starts to shuffle back towards the couch without letting go of Eddie. “Well if we’re huddling for warmth around here, we should probably get under some blankets.”

Eddie laughs, and tilts his head back to look up at Richie. “Rich, we haven’t even had a real breakfast. We should - I mean we’ll probably have to let go long enough to get food and gather the blankets.” The fact that Richie doesn’t want to, though, that he’s still got his hand pressed between Eddie’s shoulder blades, is making Eddie sort of giddy.

“Okay, fine, let’s go to the kitchen,” Richie says, but he keeps holding onto Eddie anyways, meaning they’re still shuffling together, feet tangling as they try to move in sync and fail miserably. Richie’s got this little shit-eating grin on his face, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever done, and he’s still holding onto Eddie, tight, like he’s never letting go.

It’s sending Eddie into absolutely helpless giggles, his knees knocking against Richie’s, then their elbows bumping. Eventually Eddie just sort of stands on Richie’s feet and presses his face against Richie’s shoulder again.

The problem is, Richie just keeps walking, with Eddie’s feet on his feet, moving ahead with ease, and that is - well, it’s hot, in a stupid sort of way. Richie’s holding him, and practically carrying him, and Eddie finally has to step off of Richie’s feet and away so he doesn’t get too caught up in the moment. He’s still laughing and grinning as he jumps back, but he’s probably a little flushed, too. Maybe he can blame it on the cold.

“Okay, come on, food and blankets, let’s go,” Eddie says, snapping and smiling over at Richie.

Richie grins over at him and nods. “You got it, Dr. K.”

Eddie groans, even as he starts rummaging through the fridge for the eggs. “God you haven’t called me that in years - not since we were kids.”

“I can’t help it if you’re using the Dr. K voice. You sound so official. You get all bossy - it’s one of my favorite Eddies.”

It’s half a joke, and Eddie knows that - but still there’s something about it that genuinely affects Eddie. The idea that he can snap at Richie a little and Richie just takes it and gives it back, that he likes it when Eddie gets pushy - there’s no wonder Eddie’s ruined for everyone else forever. He pulls the eggs from the fridge, and gets everything set up with Richie still hovering right beside him. “Is there a ranking of favorite Eddies?” he asks, as he starts cracking the eggs.

“Sure,” Richie says, leaning against the counter. “Badass spike throwing Eddie, anxious disease encyclopedia Eddie, little tiny Eds with the fannypack. You could be, like, an action figure, come with all different kinds of little accessories.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh as he scrambles the eggs. “I don’t think it’d sell very well. Do eggs and toast work for you, by the way? For breakfast?” He turns and looks up at Richie.

Richie shrugs. “Sure. But also, for the record, I would buy every one. All my Netflix special money, just going right into buying every single Eddie Kaspbrak action figure.”

It’s genuinely sweet, again, and Eddie just wrinkles his nose and snorts again, even as he smiles. “Right, well if anyone decides to start making them, I’ll let you know.”

Silence falls over them as the eggs sizzle in the pan - but it’s nothing like the silence of the day before. This one is comfortable, just a natural pause in their never ending conversation. Eddie pushes the eggs around with a spatula he finds in one of the drawers, and turns off the burner.

When he turns around, Richie’s already putting the bread in the toaster.

Eddie smiles at him. He plates up the eggs and carries them over to the coffee table, setting them down. He runs upstairs, quick as he can, and grabs blankets from his room and some of the others, bringing them all down to the couch.

Richie meets him there, toast in hand, and they take some time getting settled next to each other on the couch, surrounded by blankets.

It’s all just so easy. How can it still be so easy?

“If I- If I say that I missed you, is it going to make things weird again?” Eddie asks, glancing over at Richie, just checking.

Pushing up his glasses, Richie shakes his head. “No. No, it’s- I missed you, too. I was being a dumbass. You were right to say something. But I’m not - I’m done. I’m done being an idiot, so. No more missing necessary. We’re back to you and me against the world, just like I said last Christmas. Just like when we were kids.”

Embarrassingly, that almost brings tears to Eddie’s eyes. Actually, there’s no almost about it. He sniffles a little, and then laughs at himself, trying to hide it. “Okay, well - yeah, great, good. I’ll, uh- Thanks, Rich.”

“Dude, you don’t have to thank me for - Eds. Hey, are you- Hey.”

Richie stops eating and puts his plate down to pull Eddie back into his arms.

Eddie goes easily and hides his face against Richie’s chest.

With the two of them sitting, it really is just blatant cuddling. So much of them is pressed together it would be more difficult to pinpoint the places not touching. Eddie lets the warmth of it soothe him. He’d think no one had ever held him like this, had it not been for growing up with the other Losers, and having his memories back - but no one else has ever held him like this. Just Richie, and sometimes the others.

“Sorry,” Eddie says.

“No, I’m sorry I- God I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m sorry, Eds.”

“It’s okay, Richie, you were busy, you didn’t-”

“Eddie, I wasn’t. I wasn’t this busy. If I’d had any idea-”

“It’s not like I told you.”

“Yeah, cause I made you feel like you couldn’t, on accident. Just because of some shitty - just. Please don’t ever let it happen again, okay? God I almost wish you’d just hit me or something, maybe then I’d feel better.”

“I don’t wanna hit you, Rich, fuck, why do people keep saying that?” Eddie lifts his head up and wipes at his face, delicately.

“Who else is saying it?” Richie asks, frowning.

Eddie huffs. “Just- Bev. When we got stuck here, she said we should try not to kill each other, and I told her, I don’t wanna kill you, I just - I just missed you.” The last part was more vulnerable than Eddie intended, but it just makes Richie give him another little squeeze before they both settle back into the blankets.

“I’m glad you don’t wanna kill me,” Richie tells him, knocking their shoulders together as he picks his plate back up.

They eat their breakfast, still all huddled together.

It’s snowing again, outside the windows. Eddie watches it for a little while, because he’s positioned so that turning towards the windows means turning towards Richie, and they’re all angled in towards each other there on the couch.

Once Eddie’s finished his breakfast, he tucks his feet up under himself on the couch, and leans against Richie a little bit more, enjoying the warmth.

Richie is the one to break the silence. “So if neither of us want to move from this couch for the rest of the day, in an attempt to conserve warmth, I think our only option is to watch like, shitty Christmas movies on Benjamin’s fuck off enormous television.”

“Only if you get the remote with your fuck off enormous arms,” Eddie tells him, snugging further into the couch.

That makes Richie laugh, loud and bright, and he tries to lean forward and swipe for the remote without actually standing up or putting his feet on the cold floor, groaning with effort as he does. “Oh, two can play at that game, short stuff.”

“I’m a perfectly average height, Richie. It’s not my fault you have fucking orangutan arms.”

“Low blow, Eds. Just low enough for you to reach. If I were you, though, and wanted to keep using my height to your own advantage, I’d suggest being nicer to me.”

“I’m plenty nice to you. Now shut up and give me the remote.”

Richie scoffs, but grins as he passes it over to Eddie’s grabby hands.

They flip through the channels for a while before they find the actual Hallmark channel. There are probably, somewhere, actual decent Christmas movies on, because it’s the 22nd and Christmas is right around the corner. However, Eddie knows the two of them will have more fun watching something fucking terrible and hurling jokes at it than they would if they actually sat and watched Meet Me in St. Louis or something like normal adults.

The first thing they land on is some kind of terrible monstrosity with one of the actresses who used to be in Full House, only she’s playing twins who have switched places - for Christmas? Eddie barely understands the basic principle, but he understands enough to know it’s horrendous.

“Why does this story feel like they threw, like, The Holiday in a blender with the country mouse city mouse story and also The Parent Trap?” Richie asks.

Eddie laughs, shifting so he can tuck his feet under Richie’s legs. “Did you see The Holiday?”

“I’ve seen The Holiday multiple times, actually, so fuck you.”

That makes Eddie laugh harder, but he’s feeling sort of giddy, too, from how much he’s touching Richie and still getting away with it. “Really?”

“It was 2006, I was gay and sad, and Jude Law played a really charming single father. Sue me, Eds.”

“The Mr. Napkinhead thing is pretty cute. Jack Black’s character sort of reminds me of you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

Eddie smiles at him. “I don’t know either.”

In truth, Eddie does know, because he’d ended up with a strange and mildly embarrassing crush on Jack Black for a few years after he and Myra had seen The Holiday in theaters. That’s still a little too vulnerable to poke at for the moment, though.

Instead, he cracks more jokes about Switched at Christmas with Richie until the movie ends and the next one comes on. It is, of course, another terrible Hallmark original, and this one is called A Royal Christmas, and it makes a Full House actress playing her own twin seem better, somehow. There’s a prince and royal scheming and orphans - again, the whole thing just seems weighed down with its sheer absurdity.

“If the next one doesn’t get more fun to watch I’m voting we find something either better or worse,” Eddie tells Richie.

Richie throws one arm over Eddie’s shoulders, against the back of the couch. “Deal.”

Fortunately, the acting in the next one is absolutely terrible. Genuinely just, awful - but the plot is a lot more fun. It’s called The Mistletoe Promise, and it’s about two people who agree to pretend to date to get through the holidays. The setup is entirely preposterous on every level, but it’s kind of fun and funny as a result - much more to Eddie’s taste than the bullshit royalty stuff from the previous film.

“I am so glad that I would never be in a situation where my boss wanted me to have a girlfriend in order for me to get promoted. That’s obviously the most insane plot imaginable, but really, even beyond the gay thing - like even if it was a boyfriend. Can you imagine how badly I would fuck that up?” Richie asks, shifting so his knees are tucked up behind Eddie’s. He has a hand on Eddie’s ankle now, too, where it’s resting right beside Richie’s legs.

Eddie scoffs at him. “You’d probably do fine. I mean to be fair, I’m also extremely glad my job never depended on the happiness of my marriage, because I would have been fired immediately, but it can’t be that hard to fake date convincingly, can it? I think we could pull it off.”

“What like - together?”

It wasn’t exactly what Eddie meant, but he glances over at Richie and then away again, and he shrugs. “I mean, sure, why not? I could draw up the stupid contract and I bet we’d be great. Just. If you do happen to ever find yourself in need of a fake boyfriend for your important business job.”

“Yeah, okay,” Richie says back, but he sounds sort of strange.

When Eddie looks over again, Richie’s just staring at the screen.

Somehow, it feels like the two of them have created a vulnerable kind of space in the cabin where they can actually be honest with each other. Something about the two of them snowed in together without any interruptions, indefinitely, and the conversation they had earlier, makes Eddie feel like the defense mechanisms are sort of unnecessary. No one’s going to see them or hear them, no one’s going to crack jokes except the two of them.

So he just asks. “Did I fuck it up again?”

Richie turns to him, clearly surprised. “Oh. Uh - no, I was just thinking about something, Eds.” He rubs, sort of absentmindedly, at Eddie’s shin.

“I just wanted to check. And if it’s about Jason, you can talk about him if you need to. If you want to. I could have - I could have been a better friend in the past year, too.”

“I don’t know if I would have let you. I still don’t wanna talk about all of it, Eddie, but - it’s probably not as much your fault as you think it is.”

“Do you want to talk about Jason?” Eddie presses.

“There’s not much to say,” Richie admits. “I was never serious about him. About any of it. I took him to the wedding for fun, so I wasn’t going alone, but I think he read into it or something. Which - you know, fair, there’s shit to read into there. I probably shouldn’t have done it. I talked to Stan about it, a lot, and eventually he told me I should probably break up with him and work out my shit, and he was right. So I tried. I’ve been trying. I - could have done a better job.”

“Well you’re going to therapy, too, right? Aren’t all of us at this point? Is that helping?”

Richie shrugs. “Yeah, probably. Sure sounds like yours has been helping.”

Eddie snorts and looks down, picking at the fabric of his sleep pants. “Maybe. I don’t know. It helped me - admit some things to myself, sure. I’m trying to get better about being less - you know. Awful. I don’t know.”

“Awful?”

Shrugging, Eddie continues. “Doing - I don’t know, all the annoying shit I do.”

“Eds, hey, what the fuck?”

He looks up, startled by Richie’s sudden passion. “What?”

“You are not - okay, that’s not true, you are annoying, but I’m also annoying, we’re fucking - annoying people. But all of our friends, our actual friends who would be here if weather allowed, presumably, love you because they met you when you were an annoying kid. And I did, too. And you know - you know how I felt about that annoying kid. So stop it.”

Eddie blinks at him, and flushes a little bit. “Thanks, Rich. I’ll - just keep annoying the shit out of you, then, I guess.”

“Yeah, you’d better.” His hand, in all of this, has stayed resting on Eddie’s ankle, but now he’s sort of gripping it, his fingers wrapped all the way around.

Between Richie bringing it up, and the way they’re sitting, something finally drives Eddie to blurt it out. “You know I had a crush on you, too. When we were kids. It wasn’t just you.”

That makes Richie startle all over again, and he freezes in place as he looks over at Eddie with his eyes all wide. “You what?” he says, sort of choked.

“I didn’t - I mean, I was scared shitless, of my mom and Bowers and everybody else in town, obviously, not to mention - you know all the shit my mom told me, specifically, so I wasn’t going around carving anything in the kissing bridge, I’m sorry. But it was - I felt it. I probably should have led with that last Christmas, but I was so - I was in a really bad place, when I got there, and you caught me off guard, but you said that, and you made me realize what I had to do, and I had to go do it before I lost my nerve, Rich. I’m sorry. Again.”

“You - are you saying you left your wife because of - because I said that?”

That’s a little much still. Eddie shakes his head. “No, I- not exactly. You - you told me not to take it the wrong way, so I didn’t - I just. I wasn’t being honest with myself. About being gay. But you said that, and - I’ve been gay, I always was, and I had to stop staying married to Myra just because I felt like there was no way out.”

“Eds…” Richie says, but he sort of trails off, still just sitting there, looking lost.

Eddie knows it’s a delicate moment, but it’s also making him nervous. Richie’s not really saying anything else, and Eddie doesn’t really have anything else to say without veering into dangerous territory.

He also realizes, suddenly, that they’ve been sitting on the couch for nearly six uninterrupted hours, so he stands up. “Hey, we should probably eat lunch.”

Richie looks up at him and smiles. “Great segue there.”

“Okay, shut up. I’m not - we’ve been sitting here for hours and I’m hungry, dickbag. Besides, it’s - you know you got a free out when you said that last year because I ran away, but neither of us can run away right now because we’re snowed in here, maybe for the rest of the week, who knows, so - let’s just change the subject and go eat, yeah?”

Groaning, Richie resituates and starts to pull himself up off the couch. Eddie grabs his arm and helps to pull him up to standing, and keeps him close as they make their way to the kitchen.

“I’m too old for this. I’m exhausted from doing nothing. I feel like I need a nap,” Richie says.

Eddie snorts at him. “Eat first and then you can take a nap, old man.”

Richie grins and shuffles a little closer to Eddie, standing right by his elbow. “We’re probably both gonna fall asleep on the couch watching movies if you reheat that pasta for lunch. We’ll be like dads at Thanksgiving.”

“Do you want to just do the reheated pasta? I could probably make something else.”

“Nah, pasta looked good. I probably should have had some last night, but I was still being a moron, sorry.”

“You say that like you’ve stopped.”

For that, Richie elbows him, but Eddie just elbows him back. He grabs the container of pasta from the fridge and gets it in a pot so he can heat it back up on the stove. It’s nice - the heat from the burner and from Richie still hovering beside him means he’s actually not cold for a few moments.

Once the pasta is warm, they split what’s left into bowls and take it back over to the couch, curling back up to stay warm while they eat.

They finish eating and leave the bowls on the table because neither of them can be bothered to get up just to take them into the kitchen.

The corny movies are still going on the Hallmark channel, but neither of them are really paying enough attention to make jokes anymore. In fact, to some extent Richie was right - he falls asleep there on the couch, still sharing a blanket with Eddie.

Slowly, he starts to slump over, and his glasses get knocked askew on his face where he’s pressed against the couch.

Carefully, Eddie reaches over and takes off his glasses. Unable to resist the moment he’s got, he brushes Richie’s hair away from his face, too, just sort of neatening it, as gently as possible. Richie makes a little snuffling noise and adjusts on the couch, but it doesn’t seem like he really wakes up.

Eddie sets Richie’s glasses on the side table and turns back and lets himself look. He probably shouldn’t - okay, he definitely shouldn’t, but he hasn’t all day, and one little fuck up that Richie can’t see is only going to hurt Eddie. So he sits there, and he looks. Without Richie’s glasses in the way, he can see the faintest hint of Richie’s freckles - Eddie remembers distinctly how many he’d had when they were kids, and there’s still just a trace of them - just barely visible up close like this.

He looks tired, too, Eddie notices. It’s one thing to notice the casual air of dishevelment Richie has obviously decided to cultivate as part of his image, or whatever, but another thing entirely to see that there are real, obvious bags under his eyes. It’s possible he didn’t sleep any better than Eddie did last night - it would explain why he’s fallen asleep on the couch.

Knowing that if he just keeps staring, it’s going to get creepy, Eddie turns his head. He can’t really focus on the movie, though - all he can hear is the slow sound of Richie’s breathing next to him.

Eventually, completely accidentally, Eddie drifts off, too.

Unfortunately, he wakes up to the feeling of Richie prodding around next to him in the couch. “Where the fuck are my glasses?” he’s muttering under his breath.

“On the side table,” Eddie grumbles back, still half-asleep. He clears his throat, then stretches and groans. “Fuck - sorry, I took them off so you didn’t break them or something, they’re over there,” he stops rubbing at his face to wave his hand generally in the direction of where he put Richie’s glasses.

Softly, Richie says “Oh. Thanks, Eds.”

“No problem, asshole.” Richie snorts and stands up - and suddenly Eddie is assaulted by the cold air of the cabin. “God, fuck, why is it still so cold? Come back.” Not really thinking about it, Eddie stands up and follows Richie, shuffling in close to Richie’s back until he can feel his heat again.

“Do you think Ben would know how to fix the heat if you texted him?” Richie asks.

“It’s possible. If I can ever feel my fingers again.”

That makes Richie laugh a little, and Eddie finally properly opens his eyes to look up and see Richie grinning down at him, glasses back on his face. “You’re so dramatic,” Richie tells him, rubbing at his back.

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie bites back.

“Shouldn’t I be the one bitching about the cold? You stayed in New York, we’re from Maine - you think you’d be able to handle it by now.”

“We have heat in New York - I don’t make a fucking habit of just hanging out in unheated homes, you fucker.”

Richie coughs out another laugh. “God, you are so grumpy right after you wake up.”

“I’m grumpy all the time, it’s my natural setting, fuck you.”

Richie, with the hand on Eddie’s back, starts guiding them towards the kitchen. “Can’t fool me, Eds. I know there’s a soft gushy center underneath the prickly exterior. I’ve seen it too many times.”

“Have I ever told you that you talk too much?”

“Only every time we’re together.”

“Well you talk too fucking much.”

“So do you, we’re a perfect match like that.”

That, unfortunately, makes Eddie blush, so he just ducks his head and tries to hide it against Richie’s shoulder with a groan. “I need some kind of drink or something for this,”

“I don’t think you need to have coffee right now, but I was gonna make you some hot cocoa if you want some.”

Eddie lifts his head up at that and blinks at Richie. “What? Really?”

“Yeah, really, come on. You’re not the only person here with skills in the kitchen. I can both boil water and stir things with a spoon, just you fucking wait.”

For the first time since he woke up, Eddie laughs, his head tilting forward to rest on Richie’s shoulder again. “Wow, yeah. Blow me away, Gordon Ramsay.”

“Oh I will. You don’t even know the kind of hot cocoa tricks I have up my sleeve.”

“Please do not pull any tricks. Unless the tricks are tiny marshmallows.”

“God, I can’t have any secrets around here, can I?”

Richie’s voice catches strangely at the end of the sentence, but it’s sort of lost as Eddie snorts, and just sort of ends up giggling helplessly still leaning against Richie. “I don’t even think that was a good joke, I’m just still delirious from sleeping on a couch.”

“Don’t worry, I’m accounting for that - I’m only gaining the tiniest sliver of confidence from you laughing at my fucking terrible jokes, I promise.” He reaches up and ruffles Eddie’s hair. “I think we both probably needed the nap, though. I told you that was gonna happen. Told you we were old.”

“I know we’re old, that’s just factual, we’re old.” He doesn’t even have the heart, though, to chastise Richie for messing with his hair - it feels too nice. Any way Richie will touch him, Eddie will take it.

The water starts to boil, and their bickering falls away as Richie actually pulls down the mugs and gets the cocoa ready. Eddie just sort of closes his eyes and stands there in the dim light of the kitchen, swaying a little, until Richie presses a warm mug into his hands.

As he opens his eyes and looks down, he finds that there are actually tiny marshmallows in it. He smiles.

He and Richie clink their mugs together and then lean against the kitchen counter, still right in each other’s space, blowing across the top of the cocoa and barely sipping as they let it cool off.

“What time is it?” Richie asks, obviously not sure either.

Eddie checks his watch - the light outside makes sense, because apparently they were both out for a couple of hours, and it’s right around 5 - right around dusk. “Time for dinner, probably, soon. I don’t even know what to do for that.”

“Well, once we’ve had the cocoa, text Ben about the heat and then we’ll figure it out.”

Mouth still pressed to his mug, Eddie hums in agreement.

Once he can feel his hands again, he decides to call Ben and Bev rather than texting them. He finishes his cocoa and pats Richie on the shoulder as he goes around him and out towards the windows to take the call. It’s fucking cold right by the windows, though - Eddie shivers.

Ben answers quickly. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, hi - any updates on you guys’ end?”

“Is it still going that badly?” Bev asks. Obviously Ben’s put him on speaker.

“I asked first.” The thing is, things are not going badly. Things are lovely. Richie’s in the other room, still, though, and could come over to join Eddie at any minute, and he can probably still hear. Besides, there’s something about all of it that feels delicate, like bringing the others in will shatter it all, or like talking about it will. So Eddie’s not talking about it.

“That’s a yes, then. And no - none of us are getting up there by tonight. There’s no way. Even if we fly in, it would be dark, and the combination of the dark and ice and snow - it’s just dangerous, Eddie.”

“Well that’s fine, that’s not actually why I was calling.” Eddie rushes ahead, hoping Bev won’t keep pushing. “With the snow and everything - the whole place is sort of freezing. We were wondering if there’s anything we can do beyond turning on the emergency heat?”

“Oh, God, is the heat still broken? They told me someone fixed that.” Ben says. He does at least sound genuinely concerned.

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, no one fixed it, Ben. Not your fault, but - yeah, I guess once the roads are clear, you should get in touch with someone. We’ve kind of hunkered down with all the blankets we could find, and I’m wearing a scarf inside the house, so we’re making it work, but once everyone is here, you’ll probably want that fixed.”

“Of course! God, Eddie, I’m so sorry, I had no idea. Look - there should be firewood in the basement if you guys wanted to try and build a fire in the fireplace? Otherwise just try and stay warm. I’m sorry this whole thing has been such a disaster.”

“Ben, hey, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Richie calls from the kitchen, and Eddie snorts.

“Was that Richie?” Bev asks.

“Yeah, being a trashmouth, no surprise. Neither of us will freeze to death, this place is better insulated than that. It’s just a little chilly. And he’s being whiny. Don’t worry too much, Ben, and we’ll see you when you get here, bye!”

Bev cuts in to say, “Wait,” but Eddie hangs up on her. He’ll probably get an earful later, but again - he’s not talking about it.

“So I’m the whiny one now, huh?” Richie asks, walking over beside him, still wrapped in a blanket.

“Obviously not, but you were being ridiculous. Ben feels terrible about it. It’s not his fault.”

Richie grins at that, nudging up his glasses with a hand that’s still clutching at his blanket. “Obviously not.” He pauses, just for a moment, then his grin widens. “I love that you know you’re still the whiny one. My life is so empty without you, Eds.”

Something about that tugs at Eddie, right in his chest, like Richie’s got a hook around him. “Yeah, well - keep me around this time, then. Come on, let’s figure out dinner.”

They shuffle into the kitchen together, and they end up finding some soup that they heat up and split into bowls. They eat on the couch again, because it gives them the chance to stay close together and under all the blankets while they eat, and it’s warmer than it would be in the kitchen.

There’s another run of ridiculous Hallmark movies on after they finish eating, and they end up watching them mostly in silence, just resting comfortably on the couch together. Richie still cracks the occasional stupid joke, and Eddie still snorts and elbows him in the ribs, but they’re both a little more subdued than they were first time around.

Eventually, even with the nap, Eddie gets tired. He’s been drowsy since he woke up, between the dark and the quiet and the ache from the cold. He stands up and stretches, and checks the time to find out that it’s no longer embarrassing to retire.

“Hey, Rich, I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

Richie looks up at him from the couch and seems a little surprised at first, then settles into something more subdued. “Oh right. Yeah, it’s - you’re probably tired.”

“You should get some more rest, too. I know we took a nap, but you look exhausted.”

“Wow, that’s flattering.”

“Oh, shut up, you don’t look any worse than I do, I’m sure, just - not sleeping well doesn’t really suit either of us anymore.”

“You look fine, Eds.” Richie stands up, though, and stretches, too, popping his back with a groan. “Oh, fuck, God, I have so many regrets.”

Eddie snorts at that. “Okay, alright. You should definitely go lay down on a bed - specifically one of Ben’s exorbitantly expensive mattresses. I’m gonna go do the same. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

Richie nods, but neither of them make any motion to move.

Clearing his throat, Eddie takes a few steps towards the stairs, then stops and turns back to see Richie, still sort of frozen in place. “Uh - Night, Rich,” Eddie forces himself to say, fighting his way through the overwhelming desire to stay with Richie or follow him downstairs.

“Night, Eds,” Richie says back.

It takes an unreasonable amount of strength for Eddie to go upstairs, brush his teeth, and settle into his own cold bed. All he can think about are Richie’s big hands and broad shoulders and how close he’d been all day - and how warm and soft and sleep-rumpled he’d been after his nap. The way his eyes sort of crinkled up when he smiled, and the way he’d looked without his glasses.

Eddie has to turn over onto his stomach, his face pressed into his pillows, a desperate attempt to try and smother his own thoughts, and the stirring of want he’s starting to feel. Richie’s right downstairs - he’s not going to keep thinking about it, and he’s not going to do anything.

Instead of letting his own imagination stoke whatever he’s feeling into a fire, he closes his eyes and rolls onto his side, practically punching at the pillows to make them cooperate. Somewhere in between angry attempts at deep breathing, he falls asleep.

Something wakes him up while it’s clearly still the middle of the night. At first, he doesn’t know what it is - he startles into wakefulness and glances around him, briefly reorienting himself to where he is and why he’s there.

Then he sees the shape by the door, and makes an embarrassing sort of yelping sound.

“Shit, shit, Eds - sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean to wake you up-” Richie starts babbling, and Eddie relaxes immediately.

“Oh, Rich, thank God - fuck, don’t we have enough PTSD? You look like fucking Michael Myers when you stand in a poorly lit doorway, you’re too fucking tall for shit like that-”

Richie breaks into giggles at that, hunching forward with the force of his laughter. “Fuck, sorry, sorry - I - shit-”

Sighing, Eddie sits up in bed and rubs at his face, turning on the lamp beside his bed.

In the light, Richie looks tired - almost like he still hasn’t slept. He’s sort of rumpled, like he’s been trying, but there’s a hint of something wild around his eyes, even as he’s smiling a little. He’s still standing in the doorway, like he’s afraid to come in.

“Rich, what’re you doing up?”

“I, uh- I really shouldn’t have bothered you-”

“Oh, no, it is way too late for that, you have already woken me up, now come on, spill, Tozier.”

Richie smiles, but it’s sort of shaky, and he walks over to the bed and sits on the edge. “You always used to say that when we were kids. Whenever I did some stupid shit and you could tell - or when I - when I used to sleep over at your place, after, and I had a nightmare. You could always tell.”

His brow furrowing, Eddie scoots forward to put a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Rich, are you still having nightmares?”

When Richie laughs again, it’s sort of choked. “Yeah. I am. And I - I may as well just say this, they’re always about you. When I got stuck in the Deadlights, I saw some fucked up shit, and I keep having these nightmares about all these fucking awful things that happen to you, and after last Christmas, some part of me thought maybe if I saw less of you it would help, but it didn’t. And I knew you were up here, so I woke up downstairs, and I just, I had to make sure you were okay.”

Eddie moves again and pulls Richie into a hug, as tightly as he can while they’re both sitting like this. Richie’s head ends up on his shoulder, and Eddie pushes a hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, petting there as a kind of mindless comfort. “Hey. I still - I still have them, too. Nothing from the Deadlights, obviously, but I still have nightmares, too. I’m fine, and you’re fine - and we’re here, in this fucking freezing cold cabin-”

Richie laughs at that, the sound edging a little closer to normal. “Yeah that’s - is it too forward if I ask to get under the blankets with you? Because I’d love to talk about this but I left all my shit downstairs when I ran up here and I really don’t wanna freeze to death.”

“You’re not gonna freeze to death, I’m right here,” Eddie grumbles, but he lets Richie go just so both of them can slide under the covers and then they’re in bed, together. It only really hits Eddie once they’re laying down, facing each other, Richie’s warmth filling the space underneath the covers. They’re both quiet for a moment, and Eddie gets brave and reaches out, finding Richie’s hand under the blankets. It’s actually a little cold now - probably from the time he spent standing in the doorway. Eddie takes both of Richie’s hands in his own and rubs at them. “Maybe you will freeze to death, actually. Fuck, Rich.”

“Sorry,” Richie says, seeming genuinely sheepish. He doesn’t move away, though. He lets Eddie take his hands, and he stays close, under the blankets, flushing as he blinks over at Eddie.

“You don’t need to apologize for Ben’s broken heating. I guess maybe you can apologize for your shitty circulation suddenly making an appearance, but that’s generally involuntary.”

When Richie doesn’t say anything back, Eddie looks up and finds him staring. It makes Eddie stop what he’s doing, his hands pausing their motion so he and Richie just end up holding hands. Neither of them seem to have any words, for a moment.

Then Eddie decides to press. “What you said before - were you saying you avoided me - because of the nightmares?”

Richie shrugs, helpless. “No? I mean - I think I said it, but it’s a little more complicated. The nightmares were - that was a thing I told myself, in all of it, though. I’m sorry. Again.”

Something in Richie’s expression is too earnest. Eddie has to look down, his gaze on his and Richie’s hands where they’re all tangled together right under the edge of the blanket. “Well the phone works both ways, Rich. I’m sorry, too, again. I could have done better, too.”

“Eds, I- Can I ask you something that’s gonna sound weird?”

Eddie’s heart crawls up into his throat. He shivers. “Sure?”

“What - what would have happened if I hadn’t brushed you off on that phone call? If I’d actually answered and told you I could talk? Why’d you call me first?”

The question strikes too close to home. Any thought Eddie had of glancing back up at Richie’s face vanishes, and he keeps his gaze locked on their hands, on the blankets, on anything safer. If he overthinks it, he won’t answer, and he’s been trying so hard to be honest with Richie. Then again, maybe Richie “don’t take this the wrong way” Tozier doesn’t want this particular truth.

While he’s still debating with himself, Eddie answers anyways. “I don’t know. I mean - I know why I called you, but I don’t know what you would have done. I just - you convinced me to do it, to leave. On accident, I know, but you did. I wanted - I just wanted you to be the first one to know. And after Christmas last year, I guess - I guess I thought maybe I could stay with you, or something. It was - it was stupid, I mean, you have so much going on, and I think it’s good I got my own place, and I’m in New York and you’re always in LA-”

“You wanted to stay with me?” Richie asks, his voice soft.

“I don’t know. I was going to ask, maybe. Like I- I think I said, I ended up sort of crashing with Ben and Bev, not exactly, but - I was at their place all the time. I stayed in a hotel, I couldn’t find anywhere to go, but yeah I got to the hotel and I - called you as soon as I checked in. As soon as I left my ring and made it out, I called you.” Eddie knows he’s babbling now, some combination of exhaustion and the sleepover feeling of this entire setup loosening his lips.

“Eds,” Richie says, all sad and soft in a way that makes Eddie’s chest just ache.

“It’s fine, I don’t - I really don’t need to keep talking about it, I’m not - you said don’t take it the wrong way and I didn’t, I promise, it was probably all really presumptuous-”

“You keep - you keep mentioning that part where I told you not to take it the wrong way.”

Eddie shrugs, otherwise locked in place, terrified to check Richie’s expression. “It’s what you said. You led with that.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t - I thought you were straight. And I was fucking terrified.” Slowly, Richie’s hands come to life where they’re still tangled with Eddie’s. He rubs over Eddie’s knuckles, and squeezes gently at his hands. “I meant what I said.”

“Yeah, but it was-” Eddie’s voice catches. He takes a deep breath, and tilts his head up. Richie’s watching him, eyes big and dark in the lamp light. “Everything you said that - it was past tense. Not - we’re best friends. We still are, we always will be, but anything - I’m. I can’t - I’ve probably already said too much.”

“Eddie, what do you mean?” Richie’s voice and expression is all earnest, and Eddie is practically drunk on his closeness, on his touch, on the look in his eyes.

“I left my wife and I called you. Even just - even just that tiny little spark of hope from Christmas but it - it was past tense for you, Richie, and that’s okay. I’m not - I’m not going anywhere. We’re friends. You deserve to be happy.”

“Are you saying-” Richie’s eyes start to glass over, and he blinks so hard that a tear rolls down his cheek. “Eddie, are you saying it’s not past tense for you?”

Unable to speak anymore, Eddie just shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m sorry, Richie. I wasn’t going to - I’ve been trying so hard not to-”

“Eddie,” Richie says desperately, cutting him off. He moves his hands, and Eddie makes a sad little noise, anticipating whatever terrible thing he’s certain is coming, but instead Richie’s hand presses at the nape of his neck, and Richie leans in and presses their foreheads together. Eddie can feel Richie’s breath where’s it’s picked up, and their noses are nearly brushing.

“Richie?” Eddie says quietly.

“I love you. I’ve been in love with you since I was fucking 10 years old, and I still am. I never stopped. I was a fucking idiot, when you ran off I felt like you rejected me - I should have given you time or let you explain, but you were married and I just thought - I felt like that was it and I had to move on, but it wasn’t fair to Jason or you or myself-”

“You-”

“It’s not past tense - it’s not past tense, Eds, I’m in love with you.”

“Richie,” Eddie says with a little more conviction, bringing his hands up over Richie’s chest, practically yanking on his shirt to keep him close. “I love you, too. God, I’m so sorry I ran away last Christmas, I just-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it doesn’t matter anymore-”

Eddie can’t take it anymore. He presses forward, hesitates for just a moment, sharing breaths with Richie, then nudges forward again and kisses him, sinking into the moment.

Somehow, Richie kisses back.

They’re both panting, out of breath just from their desperate, adrenaline fueled conversation, but they stay close, breaking apart and coming back together, and never pulling back further than an inch or two. Each kiss is another messy smudge, Richie’s lips and stubble at the corner of Eddie’s mouth, then his bottom lip, then his top. Eddie finally tilts his head and captures Richie’s mouth in a proper kiss, lips to lips, mouths still parted on another gasp, and Richie whines into it, easily the best thing Eddie’s ever heard.

There’s more instinct than thought in the way they move together, but Eddie presses closer, and closer, and Richie tugs, and soon Richie’s laying on his back and Eddie’s draped over him, one of his legs in between Richie’s, his hands on Richie’s shoulder and his neck, keeping close while they move.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie breathes into the scant space between their mouths. His hands are on Eddie’s back, pressing up under his shirt, warm now after the time they’ve spent under the covers and holding hands. Still, the feel of them makes Eddie shiver.

“Should we - should I slow down? I don’t know what I’m doing-”

“Dude, I don’t care, just keep kissing me.”

“Don’t call me dude while we’re making out,” Eddie gripes, but he leans back in and pushes his lips against Richie’s anyways, flicking his tongue out to taste, just pressing at the corner of Richie’s lips, feeling the scratch of his stubble there, too. It tickles, just a little, and Eddie grips tighter at Richie’s shoulder.

They stay there, licking into each other’s mouths, for a while. Even when Eddie moves, it’s just to press kisses to Richie’s cheek, to his jaw, to the bridge of his nose, before he presses back in to taste again, to feel Richie’s lips against his own.

Richie’s hands find their way to Eddie’s waist, still under his shirt, and they feel so large there, Eddie feels them move against his ribs when he breathes, and every second of it makes him feel warm and desperate and  _ loved. _

“We should definitely sleep. Shouldn’t we sleep?” Eddie asks again, after a while, still in between kisses, slow sucking ones pressed to each of Richie’s lips in turn.

“I don’t care, do whatever you want. Leave me here to die. I feel like I’m still dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming, dumbass, I’m right here. You’re not getting out of this that easy. If we’re gonna freeze to death in this cabin, now, you’re gonna freeze to death kissing me.” Eddie chances a bite to Richie’s lower lip, and listens to his whine in response. “If we make it out, I’m going with you. I quit my job, I’m figuring it out - I can do that anywhere.”

“You - you wanna come with me?” Richie’s restless hands pause their endless motion.

Eddie stops, biting at his own swollen lips. “Was that not obvious? Did I-”

“No, baby, sorry, you said you wanted to stay with me, just-”

Eddie shivers with the pet name and presses his face against Richie’s neck. “Yes or no, just say yes or no.”

“Yes, yeah, of course. Fucking of course you can come with me. If it weren’t for this stupid snow I’d say let’s go right now-”

“We have to have Christmas with our friends, asshole,” Eddie mutters, biting at Richie’s collarbone.

“Okay, yes, yeah, but also wow that was such an unfair move I cannot say no to anything when you’re - oh, God, that, when you’re doing that-” Eddie does it again, another press of teeth to the prominence of Richie’s collarbone, and Richie’s whole body moves with it, presses up to meet Eddie’s mouth.

“Noted. I’m keeping that in mind for the next time you’re being obnoxious.”

“You are so mean to me,” Richie groans, but he moves his hands up over Eddie’s back again, pressing into his skin, keeping him in place - like Eddie would ever leave now.

Eddie’s kisses turn gentler, and he raises his head, just enough to look down at Richie. He looks absolutely wrecked - especially considering they’ve only been making out for an hour at most. His lips are swollen, his collar is stretched out, the spots on his collarbone actually look like they might bruise. His hair is all messy, his face all flushed, and his mouth is still parted around each heavy breath.

“This is - Rich, you look so fucking good right now you have no idea, but I’ve just had a horrible realization.”

Blinking, Richie opens his eyes and squints up at Eddie. “First time snowed in at a cabin is a little too Hallmark for you?”

Eddie snorts, and smiles, shaking his head. "God, no, dipshit, we’ve been in love with each other since we were teenagers, I think we missed that boat already.”

That makes Richie grin helplessly back at him, but he just waits there, expectant, eyebrows raised. “Go on.”

“If we get off, we’d have to get up and clean up. And this bed is so warm there’s no way I’m leaving it for a shower until the heat’s fixed. Imagine showering in this Arctic abyss. There’s no way.”

Richie snorts, and pulls Eddie back down, hand on the back of his neck, kissing at Eddie’s brow, right above the bridge of his nose, right over his frown lines. “That would have been guess number two. So no sex til the heater’s fixed - I’ll probably live. 30 years, what’s another week or so max?”

“That’s seeming optimistic. Maybe if we’re still stuck tomorrow I’ll consider alternatives.”

“Music to my ears,” Richie tells him, kissing at his temple, and then brushing fingers through his hair. “Til then - whatever you want, you don’t want, all good. I’m in this for the long haul.”

“Does that mean we’re - God now I feel like I’m 12.”

“You gonna ask me to be your boyfriend, Eds? You wanna go steady?”

Eddie groans against Richie’s shoulder and snuggles deeper under the covers, hiding.

“Answer’s yes. That’s the only way you’re getting that handsy with me, mister,” Richie continues.

“You’re so much. Shouldn’t you be more tired?”

“Adrenaline high of getting the only thing I’ve ever really dreamed about other than being a comedian. Two for two!”

“I love you,” Eddie tells him, shifting so he can see Richie again, turning to face him, head on the other pillow again.

Richie’s eyes go all big again, his expression all soft, his smile gaining a more genuine edge. “I love you, too.”

“Turn off the lamp with your fucking orangutan arms?” Eddie asks, almost sweetly, and Richie cackles with laughter. He reaches over, though, leaning over Eddie, and turns out the light. He leans down, kisses Eddie on the temple, and settles back down.

Eddie still has one leg hooked over one of Richie’s, and a hand on his chest. Richie has one hand on Eddie’s back, still, right in the center, over his heart.

“Night, Eds.”

“Night, Richie. Love you.” It’s like Eddie can’t stop saying it now - like it’s how he’ll end every sentence for the rest of his life, so Richie never has to go long without knowing ever again.

“Love you, too, Eds,” Richie mumbles back.

Laying there together, they fall into sleep.

Sometime the next day, completely unaware of the time, Eddie wakes up to a voice.

“So it’s going well, then?” Bev asks from the door.

Eddie squints, not even half-awake, and finds literally all of his friends standing in the doorway - except Richie, who is still in bed with him, his back now pressed to Eddie’s chest so they’re spooning.

Too comfortable and too happy to care, Eddie flips all of them off and presses his face back in the center of Richie’s back.

Maybe he flushes a little while all of them start clapping, but so what. Whatever. Soon Richie’s stirring, too, and when he realizes they have an audience, he just leans in and presses a big smacking kiss to Eddie’s cheek - only where Eddie once would have shoved him off, this time he turns and kisses Richie right on the lips - right in front of everyone.

They get wolf whistles and shit, but Eddie just flips them off again without looking, kissing Richie harder.

Richie pulls away, but that’s just to say, “That’s right, nothing to see here, leave me and my beloved boyfriend in peace, thank you, we have a lot of making out to catch up on,” and then he’s kissing Eddie again while everyone’s footsteps fade in the distance.

Soon they’ll go downstairs and celebrate with everyone and the heating will get fixed and they’ll all have fun together - but later, they’ll all spilt off again, and it’ll be Eddie and Richie alone again. The two of them against the world - just like it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it!! please let me know if you did!! this is still not my last holiday fic, i have a couple more up my sleeve i promise.
> 
> as always, find me on twitter @eddykaspbraks, where i'm very very active and constantly yelling about reddie


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